


A Very Broken Girl

by AngelinaHeartstone



Category: Darkest Powers - Kelley Armstrong
Genre: Chloe has PTSD, F/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Rape Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelinaHeartstone/pseuds/AngelinaHeartstone
Summary: It had been a year since she lost all of her friends.A year since the worst night of her entire life.A year since everyone believed a lie.Chloe is alone and that's okay…until Derek Souza creeps into her life and she has to face the horrible night she doesn't want to think about.
Relationships: Chloe Saunders/Derek Souza, Elizabeth Delaney/Victoria Enright, Rachelle Rodgers/Royce Banks
Kudos: 1





	1. Autophobia

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: The book may be triggering to some (attempting a writing style/subject in vein of Laurie Halse Anderson's Wintergirls and Speak).

**Leaning heavily against** her locker, Chloe glanced down the hallway, everyone facing away from her when she looked, then watched her when she wasn’t, and felt an overwhelming sense of dread.

There was no denying it: Chloe Saunders had become an outcast. A whole three months of avoiding anyone from Lyle High School had been hell; she blew off people and social events and avoided anyone and everyone.

She glanced down the hallway again.

A few kids leaned against wall, most playing on some game on their phones or talking with each other.

Just the sight of them made her heart pound. As she stared, wide-eyed, she spotted a tall, broad figure, standing close to a bisecting hallway, head lifted and turned towards her.

_ Fuck! Are they looking at me? They totally are. They probably think I’m some whore.  _ She stopped short of the double doors leading into the cafeteria entrance hall and someone bumped into her, sending both of them to the floor.

Chloe’s head was spinning as she laid there, a bony elbow digging into her rib cage.

A tall boy blotted out the harsh, fluorescent light; his eyes seemed to glow as he looked down at them. “Are you okay?” he asked and his dark, rumbling voice sent chills down her back.

She managed a weak nod as the redhead rolled off; she was surprised to see it was Kari who seemed to not even realize who she was.

“Sorry,” Kari laughed and bounced away.

“You okay?” the boy repeated, eyes following Kari and Beth until they disappeared from sight.

“I’m fine,” Chloe whispered as she got to her feet, rubbing at the tender spot on her ribs.

There was silence as the boy held out both hands, matching silver rings on each middle finger.

Chloe slid her hand into his as people buzzed around her, the faint whispers finally reaching her.

“—Isn’t that—”

“—Derek Souza—”

“—Dangerous—”

“—Chloe Saunders—”

“—Slept with—”

“—Whore—”

Chloe felt her face burn as the boy dropped her hand.

He was tall, towering above her, with a head full of messy black hair and milk-white skin and green eyes. His cheeks were pocketed from acne long ago cleared but there were still some rough patches overlaying the healed spots. “I’m Derek,” he rumbled.

“I’m uh C-Chloe.” Her cheeks burned as his eyes slid away from someone behind her to her, watching her with a frightening intensity. A cold lump of fear balled inside her stomach.

“I know. My brother’s boyfriend is in drama too. He jabbers non-stop about you.” His lips twitched like he was fighting a smile.

Derek’s eyes roamed the hallway of kids until Chloe spoke up. “Aren’t you in my Algebra class?” she said quietly. 

He turned to her, regarding her closely. 

She could feel herself turning redder and redder under his gaze; it was like he could see through her and inside her and out again, watching her blood rush through her veins faster, heart pumping more.

Quietly, she cleared her throat.

“Yeah. Miss Talbot can’t teach for shit, can she?” he muttered, eyes scanning behind her.

Chloe looked up, to say something, and froze; panic lighting a fire in her veins as Rachelle Rodgers smiled too sweetly down at her from behind Derek. “Whore.” The word sent a stake right into Chloe’s chest as Rae’s companions, Mila Andrews and Amber Long, snickered and mimed fellatio behind Derek’s back.

Chloe’s throat started to close with the promise of tears as Rae shouldered passed her. The strawberry blonde’s face burned as she watched them disappear down the hallway and sighed heavily.

She turned back around and stumbled, only to be caught gently from falling by Derek’s huge hands on her hips, steadying her. “What was that all about?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know.”

That was the first, and only lie she ever told Derek Souza.

* * *

After a minor breakdown before lunch, Chloe stumbled into the outdoor courtyard and spotted the sunny brick wall around the garden of dying grass and a huge willow tree towering above the school.

Rae squinted against the sun and laughed at something Royce Banks said.

Everything was buzzing as Chloe sat down, not daring to sneak a peek at the boy next to her with huge headphones or the girl next to her leaning over a paper.

Her throat was tightening as she heard Royce laugh.

_ It’s just me, Chloe. _

The world was spinning violently and she felt her stomach churn. Trying to breathe through her nose, Chloe sipped her water, trying to block out his loud laughter. It wasn’t working. She stared up at the blue, blue sky, decorated with fluffy white clouds.

Across the yard, Royce was smiling at the copper-haired beauty, brushing her long hair away from her cheek; she was laughing. His eyes scanned and landed on Chloe. Bile rose hot and acidic in her throat as he smiled that damn smile.

_ Sh, relax. It’s just me. _

Mila whispered something in Amber’s ear and the blonde turned, eyes narrowing. “Bitch,” she mouthed.

Chloe felt dizzy as she dropped her water bottle, barely registering the cold water seeping into her sneakers.

“You okay?”

She looked up, feeling her heart pounding viciously and angrily.

Derek’s green eyes burned into her. She stared and stared. He didn’t look so scary like this; he looked normal. “Y-yeah,” she stuttered, picking up her water bottle off the sidewalk.

“Rae and her little group doesn’t seem to like you very much,” he said blatantly, brushing dirt from his olive-green army surplus jacket.

“She doesn’t like much of anyone without a penis,” snorted the girl on the other side of Chloe. She was pretty and lean, with spiky, black hair and almond-shaped black eyes, dressed in a black shredded shirt and destroyed fishnet leggings, thick, chunky combat boots tapping on the concrete.

“Tori,” Derek was saying as the black-haired beauty shrugged.

“It’s true,” Chloe blurted. “She…she doesn’t like other girls. Not even Mila,” she admitted, biting her lip until she tasted the heat of blood under the surface of the skin.

“You look really green. Here.” Tori shoved something at her. A tin box of mints reflected the bright sunlight into her face.

Chloe took one with a quiet “thank you“. She nibbled on them, the taste calming her knotted stomach, and she relaxed.

Tori gathered her things and clunked to class without another word.

“Hi, Chloe.”

Immediately her stomach was tight and anxious again as she looked up, terrified.

Royce Banks stood not even a foot away, smirking down at her. His curly black hair was gelled back, gleaming like an eel in the light; his coal-black eyes stared down her with a dark, dangerous hate and something even darker, more vile. “Haven’t seen you around lately,” he continued conversationally. He looked like a shark, all sharp teeth and sinister intent on his brown face.

“She’s been with me,” Derek said suddenly, rising.

Royce’s lip curled.

Chloe regulated her breathing carefully as she remembered the first day she’d seen Derek.

It was very first day of school, after everything went downhill with Rae at the beginning of summer, the end of eighth grade.

Since his older brother Austin had graduated, Royce Banks was left annoy everyone else, hassling middle school girls for their numbers, saying whatever he liked to anyone because his uncle had connections and he could make people he didn’t like disappear.

She remembered watching Derek Souza, freshly transferred from some alternative school in Sacramento, walk passed him as Royce lounged in his big, scary pickup, surrounded by his buddies.

The doctor’s nephew yelled something that his stoner friends, Liam and Brady, found absolutely hilarious. When Derek didn’t react, Royce got pissy and grabbed him by the shoulder, landing a grazing blow across his jaw.

Derek stumbled, turned his head, and said something in reply.

Royce’s face turned red as he swung his arm in an arch, intent on knocking the newcomer down a peg.

Derek simply turned his head in the opposite direction and Royce’s knuckles hit the air, missing their mark.

Chloe had watched in awe as Derek walked away, and then in horror, as Royce stalked after him. This time, the newcomer couldn’t sidestep the punch to his jaw when he glanced over his shoulder and stumbled. She watched in fascination as he turned, dropped his backpack calmly, and landed a solid punch to Royce’s face. She heard the crack of bone against flesh. The crowd whispered loudly.

Derek Souza stared down for a minute at the boy rolling on the ground, picked up his backpack, and said something. He turned his back to the security guard and kept walking with a slow, sure stride.

Right now, Derek’s muscular thigh was pressed against hers and he was warm.

Royce was glaring down at them.

The bell shrilled.

Chloe’s head felt fuzzy.

“I see,” he told them slowly, his lip curling. “Have fun. See you around, Chloe.” He turned on his heel and jogged down the walkway, sweeping Rae up into his arms.

Chloe’s arms trembled as her stomach played tug of war.

“Chl—”

She closed her eyes against the onslaught of tears. “I’m fi-fine,” she said quickly and scrambled to her feet. “I-I have a paper due…I’ve gotta go.”

He nodded and got his feet. “See you.” He walked in the opposite direction, towards the east wing, and she to the west. Still, she turned back and watched him leave, his powerful strides, ignoring anything and everything.

Satisfied that he wouldn’t see, she let her stomach seize and she vomited behind her in the grass.


	2. Eremophobia

**When Chloe unlocked** the front door, she was greeted by the empty table where her dad should’ve been, which could only mean he was still in a meeting. Her aunt left a note on the fridge, telling her to order some Chinese takeout which she did. Having the whole house to herself was bringing back memories so she turned on the TV, flipped on some music channel, and turned it up as loud as it could go.

When the windowpanes were trembling with vibrations, she made her way up to her room and stripped to her bare skin. She looked tired, her eyes lidded, hugged by dark bruised bags. Her skin was waxy and pale. With her eyes closed, she dressed in the baggiest shirt she could find and some tights. Her dirty clothes were put in her hamper on autopilot and she ordered the Chinese food, even though the thought of eating made her want to hurl.

She curled up on the stairs outside, listening to the muffled sound of a heavy guitar solo through the glass front door, shivering in the hot air. It was a bit after dark when the Chinese place’s car pulled up and she carefully counted out the cash, smoothing out the creases on her thighs.

“Your total will be twenty-four fifty,” the guy said and she nodded, looking up.

Her face flamed.

“Wha—oh. It’s you.” He blinked down at her, flashing long, dark lashes. What the hell was Derek Souza doing at her house, holding her takeout? “I didn’t realize you lived here,” he told her, looking around.

“I…I do.” She pinched her thigh, hard.

“You okay? You don’t—” He caught himself and stopped talking, instead handing her the food from its bag.

Nausea rose viciously.  _ It’s just me, Chloe. Relax.  _ She squeezed the cash in her hand and lurched over the banister, retching loudly into the bushes. When most of her lunch had covered the poor leaves, she slumped back and Derek reached down, his hands filling her vision.

“Let me get you inside,” he said, and she shyly allowed him to, feeling the heat of his body behind her.

While she rinsed out her mouth in the bathroom, he set her food down in the kitchen.

“Here.”

Squinting at the water in his hand, she took it gratefully and swallowed several large, gritty gulps. Puking your guts out into some rosebushes really does a number on your throat.

“Thanks.”

An awkward silence crawled on its belly between them as he shifted, looking completely out of place in his black uniform; he was a sharp, startling reminder of how different the worlds they came from. He had friends; she didn’t…at least, not  _ anymore _ . His eyes met hers and she sucked in a deep breath.

Behind her, the front door clicked open and Lauren’s voice filled the room. “Hello? Chloe, I see you—” The swishing of her scrubs stopped as she paused in the doorway, squinting at Derek.

Chloe felt herself flush and set down her cup.

“Is this a friend of yours?” Even though Lauren had noticed Chloe’s lack of social interactions in the last three months, she’d never commented on it, never pushed her niece to make more friends or go out; instead, she spent most of the day at the hospital and sometimes night, which left the blonde alone for the majority of her time.

“Oh, um, Aunt Lauren, this is, uh, Derek,” Chloe babbled, fishing around her pocket for the cash as she led Derek to the door. When she turned at the door, reaching for the handle, Lauren’s eyes had never left him.

Her face was chalky, like she’d seen a ghost, but if Derek’s expression was any indication, he’d never met her before.

“I’m sorry about that,” the blonde apologized, counting out the bills in her hand, now crumpled. Her stomach ached at the idea of him telling everyone at school about Chloe Saunders puking in front of her house.

His eyes crinkled. “It’s cool,” he said with a shrug, “I grew up with Simon and Tori. They’ve got delicate stomachs so I’ve seen my fair share of vomit bushes.” He stopped, scratching at his arm.

“Here.” She shoved two twenties at him. “Keep the change.” 

He nodded, the light from his headlights gleaming off his black hair and then he was gone, heading down the sidewalk, to his parked car.

“That boy.”

Chloe yelped and spun around to see Lauren. By her expression, the doctor was lost in her thoughts, which didn’t happen often. “He looks just like his father.”  _ His father?  _ She turned and walked into the house, peeling off her sneakers as she went.

Chloe watched her leave and caught a glimpse of Derek’s taillights.

Sighing, she headed into the house too.

* * *

The sky was clear, ocean blue, the air was warm and still, and Chloe felt like she was going to puke her guts out into the courtyard’s grass…again. Clutching her bag to her chest, she scanned the gaggles of teens and felt her chest hammer at the sight of him.

Derek freaking Souza. His head was down, staring at something in his lap, his headphones around his neck. He looked normal in his red shirt and torn jeans, his boots tapping out a rhythm against the concrete.

Sucking in a deep breath, she lifted one foot and wobbled a step. Some tension slid out of her.

Behind her, there was a fresh burst of laughter from Rae’s table and she felt a sharp panic pierce her, hysteria of being made fun of.

_ I have to. _

Another wobbling step.

Her breathing came easier now.

Step.

Her heart was beating normally, one-two, one-two.

She was barely a foot away when he looked up from his book, a very thick one that looked more like a dictionary than anything else, and squinted.

“What do you want?” he demanded, uncrossing his legs and stretching them out.

Quietly, she shook her head and sat down beside him, taking a quiet peace in his unmistakable presence.


	3. Epistemophobia

**Something warm touched** Chloe's arm and she glanced up, unable to stop herself from tensing up.

Derek leaned over her, his mouth was moving and she hurriedly pulled out her earbuds. “I didn’t tell anyone,” he said, looking at her like they were friends, the good kind, and she nodded because that was what good people did, they didn’t just ignore the person talking to them. His eyes didn’t stop staring into her and her head ached fiercely, a pick-ax driven between her eyes, wedged into the sockets and plucking her eyeballs out.

“Are you okay now?” he asked quietly, like he was afraid someone would overhear their conversation. When she nodded, everything in her head shook and sloshed about, brain matter sliding out her ears and blood leaking down her cheeks in place of tears.

“Yeah,” she lied and her voice sounded warped, jumbled, a mass of gravel and wet sand.

He looked skeptical but let it go, his hand reaching for his backpack.

“You know,” said a voice far above Chloe that made her ears ring and her brain scramble, “I never thought I’d see the day you hung out with Killer Mutt.”

She squinted at her phone, blurred with tears. She was crying, she realized, and pressed her sleeve against her cheeks, blotting away the salty water running down her face.

Mila clucked her tongue as her legs moved, flashing golden in the sunlight and her pink skirt fluttered around her thighs, highlighting her tan lines. “You used to be so high up,” the dark-haired girl continued wistfully, her voice soft but her eyes hard and her smile cold like a killer’s, “but now you’re just as low as him.”

Chloe snuck a glance.

Derek’s head was bent; his eyes on the book in his lap but his knuckles were white, skin taut. He was crumpling a page.

“I-I—” She climbed for words, rattling her flooded skull, finding only a hollow echo of a knock lying in the dust. Her face hurt, her eyes ached. “Y-you’re j-ju—” The words were stabbing her, jamming her throat; she felt her eyes fill with tears. Everything was blurry.

“Just like us.” Derek’s thunderous voice was soft and a hush fell over the crowd. Wide-eyed onlookers gaped.

“ _ Excuse me _ ?” Mila’s nostrils flared unattractively as she whipped her head to him, her cold eyes locked on his.

He calmly closed his book and set it down beside him, an air of indifference swallowing him. “You’re just like us,” he repeated, leaning back on his hands while stretching out his legs. He looked at ease but there was something dark in his eyes. His jaw twitched. “You think you’re so—” A pause.

Chloe sucked in a breath. “High a-and mighty,” she added in a short rush of words.

Mila’s angry eyes pinned her to the brick wall.

A loud burst of laughter exploded near the west wing of the building.

Chloe’s head ached.

“You psycho, shut up,” Mila hissed.

Derek cocked an eyebrow, daring her to strike first.

A crowd gathered, hungry eyes peering at the three of them. They formed a perfect triangle, Chloe the left angle, Derek the right and Mila the tip. Mila’s long, dark hair blew in a breeze. Derek wiped something off his shirt. Chloe hugged her knees to her chest and tried to breathe. The air was smoky and it filled her lungs dangerously.

With a loud huff, Mila threw back her shoulders and said, very carefully in a dark voice, “Watch your back, psycho. You too, whore.” When she turned and stalked away, her skirt fluttered and a little peek of lace poked out.

Chloe watched her leave, her footsteps silent.

Eventually, the loudness of the court filled again and everyone was ignoring them once more, although several people still gaped at them.

Chloe let out a breath, slowly, and felt her hands tremble.

Derek didn’t say anything, just scooted a tiny bit closer.

Everything hurt. Her lungs tried to suck in air, her heart was beating too fast; her face was too hot. Everything was too much or too little. The sun glared down too brightly. She hugged her knees and tried to block out her growing headache.

Ever since the Incident, she’d been getting headaches on and off. At first, it was nothing to be worried about. _Nothing_ , the doctors said when they threw her under cold, white machinery and looked at the pretty blue-and-black X-rays. _Nothing, just take these pills, it’ll help the pain_ , they said when Lauren found her curled up on the ground two weeks after the Incident. They pushed the pretty white capsules into her mouth, watching her swallow them.

“It’s nonaddicting,” Lauren had whispered to her friends at work when Chloe was forced to come along for a late night after a particularly bad bout of agony, sitting on the nurse’s desk, bent over her homework while trying hard to pretend she wasn’t there.

“Doesn’t she look like she’s trying to disappear?” Tori was leaning over her, her face scrunched up as she gave Chloe a funny look.

“I-I—” the blonde sputtered as another wave of pain bowled her over, knocking her flat on her back in the damp grass. She spent a few minutes staring up at the blue sky, clouds too white, horribly bright and trying to decide whether she wanted to walk down to Nurse Wang and curl up on the dark, cool cot in the back, to sleep off the burning agony.

“Chl—” Derek started darkly.

“Fine,” she spit out as she rolled, onto her belly and then her knees, then her feet. She swayed. “Just fine,” she chattered. When she started for the east wing, she could hear Derek call for her. She didn’t stop, didn’t want to, knew if she did that she’d curl up in a ball on the hot concrete and never get up, never erase that memory of a million mean faces staring at the crazy, sad girl on the floor.

She kept going, never pausing, despite the pulsing waves that crashed in her brain. When she opened the door, Nurse Wang looked up from her desktop and quietly led her to the back. They had a routine. She knew about the headaches, medical history made sure, so she let Chloe curl up during the episodes and miss class, lots of class, and sleep the pain away.

The blonde closed her eyes and fell asleep, into a deep, shattering dream about a boy with green eyes.


	4. Laliophobia

** Every time she  ** closed her eyes, her mind would wander back to Derek, with his unruly black hair and green eyes. His hands touching her back, following her into the house; his eyes crinkling around the edges; his fist flying in a smooth arc to crack into Royce Banks’s jaw the first day; his thigh digging into her hers as he told Royce off calmly.

“Chloe?” It was the nurse, leaning over her, black curls swinging.

“Hm?” Chloe whispered back, struggling to pull herself upright; the wax paper crackled like interference on a radio.

“There’s a boy here with your things.” Nurse Wang sat back on her heels, looking over her shoulder at someone.

Sneakers squeaked against the tiles, loud and ringing through Chloe’s head angrily.

She barely lifted her head before she spotted the tall, lanky blond carrying her backpack and a crumpled manila folder marked homework. He was wearing a sweat-stained basketball jersey and a huge grin, friendly and happy.

“Hey. I’ve got your homework and stuff,” he offered with a laugh, shaking the bag at her.

She squinted at him, trying to figure out why he looked so familiar, why he was holding her things, smiling and grinning like they were friends. 

“Derek sent me.” He waggled the backpack, shaking its contents.

“Derek?” Her voice was tiny and raspy, barely even recognizable as her own.

“Yeah. Said something about you needing it.” The kid whistled and scratched the back of his head, shrugging sharp shoulders. “Anyway, gotta jet.” He turned and jogged out calmly, his jersey billowing against his lean frame.

Chloe rolled over to sleep again.

* * *

She was shaken awake by her uncle’s bony hand digging into her shoulder.

Ben’s face was grayish and tired, with dark bags under his half-lidded eyes and a smudge of something dark across his nose. His clothes were grimy and his hair, piled high in a curly bun, was falling out of place.

“Did you take your pills?” was the first thing out of his mouth, his scraggly voice grating on Chloe’s nerves. Unable to voice her answer, she shrugged a shoulder and he helped her pull on her shoes. From that angle, him leaning down, he looked like Mom.

Chloe blinked hard and the double image of him and her mom vanished into nothing, replaced by the lone man.

Ben helped her to her feet gently. “I made some food and it’s still in the oven. Just heat it up.” He grabbed her things and they headed out, ignoring the quiet whispers and stares of passing kids.

“Whore.” It was Mila again; pushing passed them, making sure to knock into Ben and make him drop Chloe’s things.

“Little shits, aren’t they?” he said, glowering down at her dangerously as he picked up his niece’s things.

“Yeah.” Everything was mechanical, disconnected, normally, but in that minute, watching Mila’s skirt flutter around her thighs, long hair billowing, her uncle next to her, Chloe was washed with anger; just cold, painful anger. Her hands clenched into fists. “Hey, bitch!”

The entire hallway went quiet.

Someone slammed a locker.

Mila’s foot stopped mid-step and she slowly turned, her face a mask of hatred. “What did you say?” she hissed and if she were an animal, every hair on her body would be standing on end.

“Chloe.” Ben’s hand gripped her shoulder but Chloe shrugged him off.

“I said hey, bitch,” the blonde repeated more firmly, ducking out of his grasp and stepping closer.

“I may be a bitch but at least I didn’t fuck my best friend’s boyfriend behind her back.”

Water doused her anger and she choked, unable to breathe.  _ Sh, it’s just me, Chloe. Relax.  _ Hard, dirty fingers pressing into her skin. Heavy weight pushing her down. Burning, hot pain between her legs. A harsh, raspy voice whispering in her ear. White, cold light stabbing her eyes.  _ You bitch! _

“I—” The words jammed in her throat. Chloe dug her hands into her pockets and glared at the dark-haired girl.

Mila’s crossed arms pushed up her breasts. “You’re nothing but a whore, Chloe. No wonder Rae ditched you.”

“Didn’t I tell you off once?” It was Derek, glaring down at Mila as he emerged from the intersecting hallway that led to the gym.

Mila’s face flushed an ugly, bright shade of red as she opened her mouth to respond—something nasty no doubt—but a quick look at Derek’s stormy face made her turn and wobble away.

Kids whispered fiercely.

“—Did you see—”

“—Actually talked—”

“—Is that her dad?—”

“—Souza—”

“You okay, bro?” It was the blonde boy from before, jogging up behind Derek, red-faced, his hair dark with sweat.

“Fine.” They both turned to her, their eyes concerned.

She turned and headed out the front doors, her arms shaking.  _ Sh, relax.  _ Hot sun burned her sensitive skin, little blisters oozing with black tar. Her headache was back, full force now, pounding and driving shards of glass into her eyes. Everything—anything—hurt. Her eyes throbbed; her stomach cramped; her temples pounded.

“Thank you…” Her uncle was saying as he opened the door behind her.

“I’m Simon. That’s Derek.”

“Kit’s boys, right?”

Once Chloe go to Ben’s car, she climbed into the backseat; pulling the blankets he kept in the back for her up and balled one up for a pillow. The cramps were progressively getting worse and worse, from a short little stitch in her stomach, near the back; to a sharp, angry knife being thrust up through her intestines, making her bleed everywhere. Here, in the backseat, everything was quiet; everything was blocked out. She pulled the blankets over her head. The aching in her eyes stopped slowly. Windows filtered out the outside noise of passing cars and birds singing.

Footsteps pounded outside, the car door creaked open, and the truck rocked back and forth.

Her head rattled.

“You okay?” Ben asked as he rifled around, papers rustling, cups rattling.

She didn’t want to answer.

The engine roared to life. Vibrations trembled through the seat. Cocooning herself further into her nest of blankets, she squeezed her eyes shut tighter and hugged herself.

A hand touched her back gently. “It’ll be okay. I promise, ” he said again.

_No it won't. It hasn't been. Not for a long time._ “Okay,” was what she said out loud.   



	5. Aphenphosmphobia

** When she opened  ** her eyes, everything hurt, her stomach, her eyes, and her back. Everything. Her bones, her muscles, her tendons. Her skin felt hot, way too hot, and sensitive; her face felt sticky and her t-shirt stuck to her skin. The sheets were wrapped around her thighs, around her pelvis, panties twisted too. She pushed a piece of her hair out of her mouth.

“Chloe?”

There was a hushed whisper at the door. It creaked open slow like whoever was on the other side was trying not wake her up.

She rolled over and curled up tighter, hugging her stomach.

“Oh.”

Someone shuffled out again and the door clicked shut.

The blonde laid there for the longest time, sunlight slants hitting across her eyelids and the birds chirping like chainsaws, stabbing into her brain, wedged deep between the halves and tearing it into wedges. The sheets tore at her skin, ripping at the pores like threads of glass.

Chloe pulled herself upright gingerly, yawning wide. The room was far too bright, burning her eyes, making her vision blur with tears. A quick glance at the clock told her it was nearly three in the afternoon. Having spent almost all night with her headache, it was reasonable that she’d sleep in late.

There was a sticky note on her nightstand.

_ Don’t lie in bed all day. Working double shift tonight. Reheat left overs. Tylenol on the counter.  _ Of  _ course  _ Lauren would be working late; she always did, even when Ben took Chloe home from school. Work came first. Not family, not Ben or Chloe. Just work. The hospital was basically Lauren’s home, keeping her busy, keeping her steady when disaster struck; if anything bad happened, she’d run to the hospital and bury herself elbow-deep in solving brain mysteries. Not her niece’s chronic headaches or why she became so antisocial or what  _ really  _ happened that summer or why no one came over anymore.

Chloe was used to being left alone, having to deal with the brain-splitting headaches, brains gushing out all over the pretty, white tiles, making everything slippery and hard to walk on. While her brain slush bled all over the soft, fluffy carpet in the den and the TV room, her aunt plunged her arms elbow-deep into people’s brains to save their lives.

The blonde pulled her damp curls out of her face and tried to focus on her nails, chipped and brittle and dirty. They were attached to long, skeleton fingers, covered in bruises. She kicked away the sheets, ignoring the way it ripped away from her sticky skin and set it aflame, and swung her legs. Knobby knees, little thighs, air between them; she was all skin and bones. A wave of bile rose in her throat but she swallowed it back down. It burned.

Slowly, inch by inch, she scooted off the bed; hit the floor with a thunk. Pain swirled in her tailbone. Stunned, she sat there for a long moment, too weak to really do anything; her legs quivered with her fatigue.

Downstairs, the phone started ringing and she used the bed frame—metal biting in deep—to push herself to her feet again, feeling too much like a little old woman. She knew she was skin and bones. Somehow, Chloe managed to get to the bathroom. When she looked in the mirror, she nearly screamed. Sunken, hollow eyes, brittle hair, translucent milk-white skin. Her collarbones were bowls; her ribs begging to tear the flesh, huge shadows where her hipbones jutted; her cheekbones pulled her skin taut and the space between her thighs could’ve put the Grand Canyon to shame.

She was a corpse.

Unable to bear the ungodly sight before her eyes, she turned away and ran the water. Steam clouded the mirror and the porcelain sink and toilet, making it hard for her to breathe. Her fingers trembled and fumbled with her shirt; they struggled even further to peel off her sticky underwear. She didn’t look down.

The water splashed up to her chin when she sank into the bath; her skin prickled as the heat sank into her flesh. She didn’t want to see the bones peeking out or the papery skin so she kept her eyes closed, head tilted up to the ceiling as she scrubbed away the slick sweat from her nightmares.

She slowly closed her eyes and let herself sink down, down, down. She could feel herself getting heavier, her thoughts slowing, her breathing becoming more and more regular. In the heat of the room, she could feel her fatigue take hold of her, squeezing tight, forcing her into sleep.

* * *

The water was ice-cold when she woke up, shivering from the frigid temperature. Her skin was covered in goosebumps; her nipples pebbled against the cool water. The house was still; Lauren wasn’t home yet it seemed so Chloe sank back into the bath again to rinse off. Early evening sky peeked out from between the leaves of the trees outside, looming outside the bathroom window.

She felt achy but significantly better. The cool water shocked her system awake, knocking back the last of her drowsiness. It was as she got out of the shower that the migraine hit, making her slip and the edge of the sink smashed into her head.

Her head was splitting in two, pried apart with a crowbar while someone shot needles into her brain. Blood ran in the vision of her right eye, making it sting. She curled up, trying to breathe as the blood ran down her face, staining the towel under her. Shaky, she managed to pull herself up and crawl to her bed. Pressing a wad of tissues against the cut, she curled up on the bed. The headache spiked even more, slamming through her head. Cold water dripped onto her pillowcase, making her shiver.

Shards of glass shattered behind her eyes. Wet, hot blood poured out of her ears as a door slammed outside. She pressed her face into the pillow.

Death may have well had sunk its teeth into her, tearing her rib-cage open and climbing inside, making her rot from the inside out.

She’d rather be dead.


	6. Mythophobia

** Monday rolled around  ** painfully bright, with hot, baked cement, and Chloe’s head pounded with every step she took. Around her, kids jarred and elbowed and backpacks bounced. Someone screamed shrilly. Bile rose in the back of her throat, as the pounding in her skull grew fiercer.

“Chloe!” It was a blonde girl, with a curtain of wheat-gold hair and bright grey eyes, her tiny cheer leading uniform hugging her athletic figure. Liz Delaney, captain of the cheer squad and friends with everyone; despite popular belief, she didn’t fall into the “popular” category nor the “loser”—she bounced from group to group, making friends with everyone.

“Oh, hey,” Chloe said but couldn’t muster the strength to put feeling into her voice.

Liz paused, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. With every hop, her hair shuddered, gleaming in the natural light from the skylights above them.

A headache pounded behind Chloe’s eyes and she ducked her head down, letting her curls block out the sun that stabbed the sockets.

“Did you hear?”

At her blank look, Liz rushed on, her face glowing with excitement. “About Royce trying to fight Derek!”

Every head in the vicinity turned towards them.

Completely oblivious, the cheerleader prattled on. “Royce doesn’t seem to like him hanging out with you very much,” she added quietly under her breath as the warning bell rang, telling everyone they had five minutes to rush to class.

Chloe closed her backpack slowly, her hands shaking a bit too much for her tastes, and hoisted it over one shoulder. Her eyes glanced at the clock. Eight-fifteen. “I gotta go,” Chloe told the energetic blonde who was just beginning to launch into her harrowing tale of tall brunettes and self-righteous assholes.

She managed to hobble to her first class, Literature with Miss Talbot, with hardly any problem, but she still asked to go the nurse. Instead of going to the nurse, however, she snuck into the bathroom and puked up what little she’d eaten. When she rolled back, flushing the toilet, another girl walked in and took up residence in the stall next to her. Loud sobbing cut through the silence, thick and heavy, as the toilet paper dispenser squeaked and squeaked. Casually, Chloe glanced under the stall. No legs, no shoes.

A trickle of ice fell down her spine and she scrambled to her feet. Her brain sloshed inside the case of her skull. All the stall doors were open but she didn’t see anyone and that sent chills down her spine. 

Miss Talbot looked a bit perplexed when Chloe came back—she normally didn’t—and muttered something under her breath, an excuse almost, and flopped back into her seat.

* * *

“Why does Royce hate you?”

Lifting her eyes from her tiny cup of yogurt, her stomach rolled slightly at the sight of the tall, black-haired boy. He looked dangerous in a tight black jacket to keep away the slight chill as summer dwindled into autumn and dark boots. His hair hung in his eyes but she could feel the heat of his gaze on her.

Swallowing hard, she set down her lunch and said, “What?”

He shifted, his long shadow draping over her, breaking through the nearly unbearable heat of the sun blazing down. “I mean Royce wants to slug me. Over you.” His lip curled backward slightly. “If he has Rae, why would he bother with you? There isn’t any history.” Unbidden, her mind swelled with memories.

A soft touch, a gentle smile, music roaring in her ears as her head swam from bubbly soda that tasted funny.  _ Ssh, it’s just me. _

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t rip the rat bastard’s spine out and beat him with it,” Tori grumbled as she flopped down with an apple in her hand and a bag of chips in the other. She stretched out long, muscular legs and tapped Chloe’s ankle with the toe of her flip-flop.

“H-huh?”

“He tried to get Liz to give him the four-one-one on you, Blondie.” Setting her apple down, between her thighs, she pulled out her bag of potato chips, balanced it between her hands and slapped it. The pop made Chloe’s head shatter into a million pieces and brain flew everywhere; blood dripped down her temples in huge rivulets. Oblivious to Chloe’s turmoil, Tori crunched through her chips loudly.

“Are you okay? You look kind of…pale, at least, more than usual.”

Chloe was surprised she even asked. Couldn’t she see the blood pouring from her cracked eggshell of a skull, soaking her shirt, her brain having long departed at the sound of the bang of her opening the bag?

Derek leaned down, too close for comfort, and squinted down at her. Even leaning down, he was taller than her. The last time she was this close to someone—

“He doesn’t like me much,” Chloe lied briskly despite the tears building in her eyes.

Tori nodded, satisfied, but Derek looked dubious, his face pinched with skepticism at her blatant lie. “There’s more than dislike,” he pointed out, his expression growing tighter every second.

“He’s never liked me,” she argued, absently, as the pounding in her head grew. If she kept talking about, she’d end up reliving it against, the ghost of his touch on her skin, a whisper of his voice next to her ear. She clenched her jaw tight against the tremors that threatened to incapacitate her.

“It _is_ something more,” Rae said loudly.

Cold spread through Chloe’s veins.

“She fucked my boyfriend and had the gall to lie about it.” A sour, fierce wave crashed over Chloe, cresting over the top of her head, as Rae paused in her walk to the inside building, heading for the double doors. “She’s just whore.”

With tears in her eyes, Chloe stumbled to her feet and ignored Rae’s laughing behind her.


	7. Phronemophobia

**She wanted to** scream that she didn’t sleep with anyone, but words were getting harder and harder to force out passed the stitches holding her mouth shut. Her face was red and splotchy and tired in the mirror as she splashed water into her eyes and blinked away the fresh flood of tears. The skin of her lips stung as she gnawed at it, refusing to make a sound.

_ It wasn’t like that,  _ she told herself, watching her eyes fill with tears,  _ it wasn’t.  _ She frowned at her reflection, pink eyes and runny nose, and sighed through her nostrils. Nobody believed her; not Rae, when she stuttered and cried through an attempt of an explanation; not her “friends” who thought she was lying because Royce was a really nice guy. Maybe she did come onto him.

“Oh,” squeaked a voice and she looked up to see Beth Snyder standing in an open stall, her chubby face flushed.

Chloe clenched her jaw and turned to walk away.

“I believe you,” Beth blurted.

Chloe stopped. Turned around. “W-what?” she stammered.

Beth glanced around, as though someone were watching, and said, very purposefully, “I believe you. About…Banks. He’s a real scumbag. Is it true, you know, that after he…you started to get your little migraine episodes?” She washed her hands carefully, scrubbing with surgical precision, under her nails, in the webbing of her fingers, the cuticles. She rinsed, scrubbed down again, rinsed, and scrubbed down. Finally, she finished and dried her hands using exactly three paper towels and turned to face Chloe.

“Yeah,” the blonde murmured, her voice tiny. She tried to smile but it came out more of grimace.

Beth’s big, earnest eyes stared down at her. “Yeah, he’s a piece of shit,” she said and Chloe surprised herself by smiling. Beth looked startled too but soon joined in.

The main door swung open and they quickly stifled their laughter.

“Did you try to go to the police?” Beth asked, watching a scrawny junior walk into one of the empty stalls.

Chloe shook her head. “He’s Royce Banks. What do you think? Even if I did, I don’t think they’d believe me. At least, not all of them.”

Beth squinted as she held the door open for Chloe.

Beth shoved something into her hand before offering a tiny smile and walking away. Chloe looked down. It was a tiny scrap of paper with a phone number on it. Beth _ ’s number.  _ She stared after the dark-haired basketball player in amazement before remembering she had class and headed back.

* * *

Today’s brain episode was so bad that they had to call the nurse down. Chloe nearly bit through her tongue to keep from screaming and curled up on the floor tighter, her knees hitting her chin. Her tiny hands struggled to keep her skull together, to keep it from splitting open and spraying everyone with brain matter. It leaked out her ears in a gory, melted snow cone and soaked her shirt and hair; of course, no one saw. It was only ever her.

“Chloe?” asked the nurse, touching her shoulder.

She jerked away; the hand was like fire touching her skin and it left her skin blistering. Despite the fire raging under her skin, her arms, bare, were covered in goosebumps and the fine, little hairs stood on end, like a dog’s fur. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t focus her eyes on the finger the nurse wanted her to follow; it was like her brain was on a different frequency than her body. Tears welded up in her eyes while she imagined all the staring eyes and whispers she’d get when—and if—she came back tomorrow. Just the thought of it made her sick to her stomach, twisting and turning itself into a gooey pretzel.

“Here. Do I need to pick her up?” A pair of arms wrapped around her, hoisted her up.

She tried to crack an eye open but found even that hurt; a fresh spasm of pain crashed into the previous one, knocking the breath out of her lungs. Tears dripped down her face.

“It’s okay,” the nurse said in her ear and Chloe could visualize her face, sympathetic and matronly. Whoever was carrying her was very light on their feet, because she wasn’t being jostled all that much. 

The nurse was speaking quickly to someone and a blast of cool air hit Chloe in the face, a balm against her feverish skin. “Here, here. Gentle now. Good. Chloe, can you hear me?” 

Even nodding hurt, but she did it anyway.

“Thank you, Miranda.”

The door creaked open.

“Oh goodness!” The nurse was obviously flustered. “Here. Right here. Tilt your head back. Good, good.” The smell of cologne and boy sweat made Chloe shy away.

“Just me,” a voice said, and she relaxed once she realized it was just Derek. It was hard to imagine him in the nurse’s office. Maybe he was bleeding out the ears too, letting it leak all over his hands and the floor, making a mess like a bad child. 

“Chloe?” 

Something touched her foot.

She was pretty sure she would’ve jumped if she could.

Somehow, conjuring all the strength in her tiny body, Chloe managed to press her foot down onto his hand in acknowledgment.

“I’m in here because Royce decided to hit me in the face with a football,” he told her. The only other sound in the room was breathing, the crinkling of the wax paper, and Miss Green humming in Italian under her breathe.

“He wants to fight,” Chloe managed to croak as the pain lessened for a split second, saw Derek nod through a slit in her vision, and then it was back.

Fuck.


	8. Scelerophobia

** The impending ** **fight** was all anyone could talk about. 

Everywhere Chloe went, the whispers followed, creeping into her brain, dripping poison. It was worse than seeing the ghost in the mirror or listening to the quiet, sneaky insults burn in the back of her brain. This was worse, far worse than Rae burning all the things she'd given her during the summer. Worse than Royce’s fingers on her, the tacky soda on her tongue, the music pounding and sweat dripping down her spine. Worse than her mother’s dead, milky eyes as the icy breath in her lungs rattled hollow, clanking against her ribcage.

Royce was eating up the attention like a snuffing dog, flashing his dimpled grin at everything on two legs with a set of breasts that caught his attention; it was worse, because, now, Rae and Amber and Mila all hung around him, stabbing insults at her with every quirk of their wicked mouths. It was hell on Earth, boiling the blood in her veins, burning her to a crisp with every breath.

“I’m going to kill the next person who asks me when this fucking fight is,” Tori snarled as she ripped open her bag and dumped the contents of her lunch out onto the grass. A warm breeze blew back her hair as she bent her head, inspecting the food. Chloe glanced up from her apple slices and blinked against the bright sun burning down on them.

Royce, thank Jesus, was absent today, and the entire school was a lost puppy without his guidance but that didn’t stop the whispers from trailing into her ears every second of the day.

“They’re asking you about the fight?” Chloe whispered, pushing back stray locks of hair.

Tori shot her a murderous look and ripped open the bag containing a cold McDonald’s burger. “The fuck you think?” she hissed, flaring her nostrils as she crammed a bite into her mouth, smearing ketchup across her chin. With her hair wild and matted in places, nostrils flared in an expression of disdain, she looked crazy and wild, ready to rip into the next person who pushed her passed the brink. “All I’ve fucking heard today is ‘are they gonna fight?’ and ‘when’s the fight supposed to happen?’ and ‘who’re you betting on? I’m betting on Royce or Derek’.” Another bite, oozing ketchup and tomato slices out the back of the bun.

Chloe dragged a slice of apple through her milky yogurt. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, “but I thought it was just a rumor. Like how Mr. Trevor is gay or Mrs. Talbot is a dominatrix.”

Tori sneered, rubbing purple lipstick on her teeth, and savagely bit into her burger.

“So, I hear your ugly lug is gonna fight Royce,” someone said and Chloe looked up, curious.

The figure was blocking out the sun, casting a long shadow across the two girls, and reached down, leaning out of the glare of the sun. Long, greasy blonde hair that brushed his shoulders. Eyes the color of steel, just as cold. Unshaven, with a ripped denim jacket and ratty t-shirt. Liam Malloy.

Her breathing quickened, short little gasps. Ice sloshed in her veins, painfully cold.

“Fuck off,” Tori snarled, flipping him off, and the bracelets on her forearm jangled.

He laughed, low and deep, and it sent Chloe’s heart galloping, tears prickling her eyes.

Her hands shook so she tucked them underneath her thighs, scraping her knuckles against the bricks.

Liam’s gaze shifted from her to Chloe, cold and menacing; it was as though he  _ knew  _ what had happened, had been there that night, had seen how she stumbled how and vomited in the bushes and scrubbed her skin raw. Memories rushed up wildly, too fast for her to pick them out from one another, but panic clamped down on her throat, hot and tight with the prickle of fear.

“Little Chloe Saunders,” he said while staring down her shirt, and she jerked back, scratching her thighs pink as she scooted. He reached down in one smooth motion and grabbed her ankle, laughing; his teeth flashed as he pulled his lips away from his teeth, a wolf baring a snarl, playing with its prey.

A wave of hot anger spiked through her and she lurched, shoving him as hard as she could. Pain flared in her hands, in the bones, as they gave a great crack that made the courtyard fall silent.

Liam stumbled back a few steps before he regained his footing, a crazy fury lighting up his eyes. She wanted to hurt him, wanted to lose control, and make him bleed, and a sudden flare of fear flashed through her, bright and sizzling like a firework, branching out into her veins and racing towards her heart.

“Is everything okay here?” asked a low, rumbling voice, and her heart galloped painfully as Derek’s massive shadow fell across Liam’s, dwarfing him. The stoner spun around, his hand balled into a fist, mid-arc, and Derek side-stepped.

“D-D—” His name caught in her throat, and she leaned against the bricks. Her hands were throbbing; she’d probably had fractured something important.

Derek and Liam circled each other, two wolves facing off, lips curled over their teeth with a cold malice in their eyes. Sun glinted off Liam’s greasy hair as he spat a huge wad of phlegm into the grass.

Several girls made noises of disgust and scattered to avoid the glob; the movement distracted Derek and Liam seized the opportunity to lurch and land a sharp, brutal punch.

An icy rush of panic filled Chloe, freezing her lungs, and she scrambled forward as Derek rubbed his red jaw. 

Across the courtyard, she caught Rae’s cold, unblinking eyes. Vomit rose in her throat. 

_ Sh, Chloe, it’s me.  _ Razor blade chains wrapped around her, immobilizing her, and she could only watch in horror as Liam knocked Derek to the ground. A silent screamed built up in her throat, clawing its way up, and then burst out of her mouth, shattering her chains. 

“Derek!” She darted forward, throwing herself between the two boys, and something hot smashed into the side of her face. Several cracks reverberated inside her skull as pain soared up and crashed over her.

Her head smacked into the ground, painful, and Liam’s shadow blocked out the sun for a split second before he was dragged out of her field of view. “Chloe!” called a faraway voice as a hot hand, rough and twice the size of hers, squeezed her fingers. “It’ll be okay,” the voice said, stroking the flyaway hairs from her face. “Shit, someone get the nurse,” it snarled suddenly as something dark slid over her eyes.

Christ, it hurt so bad.


	9. Automysophobia

** The sound of  ** a heart monitor woke Chloe and she opened her eyes to stare up at the ceiling; it didn’t look familiar to her at all. Since when did her room have tiles on the ceiling with water stains? And why did it smell like antiseptic and bleach?

“Chloe?” A figure leaned over her, blocking out the light, and she grunted in response. Fatigue tugged at the edges of her mind, but she managed to keep her bleary eyes open, if not for the briefest time. The corners burned, and she blinked rapidly.

“Thank God,” the voice continued, running the back of a hand across her cheekbone tenderly. The figure leaning over her was blurry at best, but she could make out red-brown hair and sad, blue-gray eyes. The voice was feminine, so she made a guess on who it was.

“Aunt…Lauren?” Chloe managed in a weak, frail voice that didn’t sound like it belonged to her; it sounded too small to be hers, a stranger’s voice from her mouth.

The woman leaning over her sobbed and threw herself at the blonde, wrapped her arms around Chloe’s throat.

Pain lanced across her scalp and she shied away.  _ Sh, Chloe. It’s just me.  _ Bile rose in her throat, hot and sour, burning her esophagus, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Chloe? Are you okay?” Lauren asked.

Ice picks stabbed Chloe’s stomach, twisting, and a rush of vomit filled her mouth. She clapped a hand over her mouth and looked around wildly for a bucket or bed pan, anything; she spotted the tiny trashcan and lurched over the side of the bed, retching loudly and violently into it. As she heaved, Lauren stepped into the hallway to get a nurse, despite being a doctor herself. Eventually, Chloe’s stomach settled and her throat was on fire so she reached for the pitcher sitting on the bedside table beside her. She was startled to find her fingers were encased in a brace, and knocked over the pitcher, spilling it across the floor.

A doctor hurried in. He was dark-skinned with curly black hair and a thick goatee, and his name tag read  _ Todd Banks.  _ He looked like Royce _ .  _ Terror and anxiety crashed violently. Water filled her ears as he spoke, completely oblivious to how much her organs were shaking inside, how much her fear was drowning her.

“How are you feeling, Chloe?” he asked as he picked up the pitcher and then flashed a penlight in her eyes.

She forced a few breaths so the heart monitor wouldn’t give her away.  _ Shitty,  _ she thought bitterly and flinched when he placed a cold finger on her chin to tilt her head left, right, up, and down whilst he shone the damn light in her eyes still. “My head hurts,” she admitted reluctantly, shying away from his professional fingers that reminded her— _ sh, Chloe, it’s just me relax  _ and how much his nephew’s had dug into her shoulder, leaving bruises and Jesus the room was spinning like a merry go round and that reminded her of the fuzzy, lemon soda that tasted weird when he handed it to her—and she blinked hard enough to see black spots.

“Does anything else hurt?” He pressed down on her stomach and ribs, checked her legs, and then, stood a few steps away, pocketing the light in his little breast pocket.

“No.” She scooted the edge of the bed so she was far away from him and stared at her aunt. “What happened?”

“You were either very stupid or very brave,” Ben said as he came in, carrying two cups of coffee. He was more wild than usual, bags under his eyes, his shirt wrinkled and his breath stank of his addiction to his number one comfort food, meatloaf.

Chloe always thought it was weird how Lauren and Ben were completely opposite. Where Ben was rumpled and dirty most of the time from his job in the mines, Lauren was always immaculately dressed and clean, despite her messy buns and tendency to forget to take off her pager. Right now, actually, her aunt fared no better than her brother, with an ashy face and a hoodie from her university that had a huge tear in one of the elbows.

“What do you mean?” Chloe asked, her hands drifting up to where her head had begun to throb. Her shaking fingers touched something scratchy.

“You stepped into a fight and was knocked to the ground. Unfortunately, you split from your eyebrow to your hairline open on the edge of a brick wall,” Lauren explained quickly, taking the coffee from her brother. “You had thirty-three stitches.”

It was funny, then, how they could see the thirty-three stitches in her skull but they couldn’t see the invisible ones holding her fragile, porcelain doll body together, keeping all her toxic waste inside of her, keep it from spreading, from infecting everyone, keeping her seams closed so she didn’t hurt anyone else. She was a disease because she was dirty, full of black filth that no amount of scalding water would ever wash free; it clung to her organs and tainted them, turning them grey; it clotted her heart, making her a black, heartless girl with dead eyes.

She ran her fingers gingerly across her ice-blue veins, wondering if the sickness, the filth, was visible to anyone who wasn’t dirty like she was. Could Lauren see the tar creeping up her fingers, leaving streaks across the blankets? Did Ben notice the filth soiling the bandages, clumped in her hair? Could they see it leaking out of her ears, onto the bedspread underneath her?

Someone knocked lightly and she closed her eyes, sucking in a deep breath. The air was stale and tasted dusty. The memory of her filth burned on the backs of her lids, fiercely; even now, lying in the hospital bed instead of curling up under the hot shower like she had, she could feel the long nails breaking the skin, too tight on her hips, the hair in her hair, ripping it out by the roots, the blood filling her mouth, sour, curdled breath in her nostrils, the weight of that too-warm, too-heavy body on top of hers. A small flood of bile burned in her throat but she swallowed it.

“I’m sure she’ll be able to be discharged in a few days. We have to make sure…” Dr. Banks’s voice trailed away as his squeaking shoes faded away into silence. Something rustled, and the smell of coffee drifted away. A door closed. At last, she could listen to the quiet, the doctor’s faint voice muffled by the door.

_ Filthy,  _ she hissed to herself.


End file.
